


Don't Try to Hide It

by longwhitecoats



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Disney Prince Sam Wilson, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Milk And Cookies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4252413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longwhitecoats/pseuds/longwhitecoats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little hurt/comfort (okay, mostly comfort) between these two beautiful dorks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Try to Hide It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearwaldorf (sonatine)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pearwaldorf+%28sonatine%29).



They’re rounding the corner of the reflecting pool together one morning when Steve stumbles, grunts, and flops down onto the grass without warning. Sam’s momentum carries him right past his boyfriend for a good twenty yards before he turns around and jogs over to Steve, who is clutching his left shin and groaning.

Sam leans over, hands on his knees, panting. “Steve, what,” he breathes.

“Nothing—” Steve says, but his voice is tight and he’s wincing.

“C’mon, sweetie, what’s up?” Sam reaches out toward Steve’s leg. He’s not officially pararescue anymore, of course, but he patches Steve up sometimes after he’s done something especially dumb and scraped his knee or broken his bones, both of which happen with about equal regularity. Sometimes Sam could swear that Steve takes personal offense to all rules on principle, and he doesn’t make an exception for the rules of physics.

But this time Steve just hisses and rolls away, turning his now-muddy butt toward Sam. “I’m _fine_ , I just need a minute to— _fucking shit goddammit_ ,” he swears, and Sam rolls his eyes.

“Okay, that’s it,” he says, grabbing Steve by the shoulder and rolling him back over. He stays curled up, pouting, hair sticking up in all directions. He resembles nothing so much as an angry Popple. “What is going _on_ with you? Did you break something?”

Tears are gathering at the corners of Steve’s eyes as he grudgingly mutters, “My shin hurts. Real bad.”

Sam sighs. “Let me look at it, okay?”

Steve holds still while Sam gently runs his hands over Steve’s calf muscle and checks his ankle for mobility. He prods Steve’s knee. Nothing seems broken. He’s got an inkling of what’s going on. “This might hurt,” he says, and bracing himself, he gently touches two fingers to the front of Steve’s lower leg. Steve immediately howls in pain and jerks his leg away, curling back up on himself and making small whimpering noises.

“You look like a pillbug,” Sam says.

“It _hurts_ ,” Steve retorts from inside his little Captain Ameri-ball. “I am _protecting_ it.”

“You don’t need to protect it,” Sam sighs, unable to keep from smiling. He’s in love with an adorable goof. “You need to put some ice on it. You got shin splints, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes appear over the top of his knees, gleaming darkly.

“I do not. Super soldiers do not get shin splints.”

“This one does. Come on, honey.” Sam reaches out his hand. “I’ll help you.”

Steve doesn’t move for a moment; then he sighs with great vehemence and takes Sam’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Or his foot, rather, since he doesn’t seem to want to put any weight on his left leg at all.

“Take me home, Sam,” Steve whimpers. “This fucking sucks.” Sam kisses his forehead.

“I will take you right home, babe. Lean on my shoulder. That’s it.”

The walk isn’t far, but Steve grumbles and whines the entire time, which just makes Sam shake his head and grin. The man took a gunshot wound to the stomach and was walking in a week. Steve’s told him stories, too. He knows Steve’s marched through mud all night just to spend the next day ducking machine gun fire, and Steve has shown him some of the tender places on his body that ought to have shrapnel scars, but don’t. Steve can handle pain. So—Sam kind of can’t help laughing a bit. Even though it’s not like he’s glad that Steve is injured.

But the complaining is a _little_ funny.

“I’ll never walk again,” Steve groans as Sam finally lays him down on the couch. “I’ll just get Bruce to carry me everywhere. It’s not worth it. Oh, god, I feel like the little mermaid.”

Sam chokes on his sudden laughter and has to catch himself on the kitchen counter. “Excuse me?”

“You know, the fairy tale? She wishes for legs, but when she gets them, every step is like knives. _Wauuuugh_. I wanna go back to the _seeeeea_.” Steve pulls a cross-stitched pillow out from under his head and _plops_ it down over his face. The pillow says HOME SWEET HOME and has a little bird on top sitting next to a blue star. Natasha made it for them when they moved in together. It’s Steve’s favorite pillow.

“Whatever you say, Ariel,” Sam says, wrapping the ice pack in a tea towel and getting some anti-inflammatories from the cupboard. Steve is usually 3x the normal dose, but since he’s in a lot of pain, Sam ups it to 4x. “Just don’t trust any octopus ladies with evil eel companions, okay?” He pours a glass of water and brings everything over to the couch. “Here.”

Steve takes the pills and the water, looking uncertain. “Eels? What? Were there octopus ladies in the story?” He swallows the pills.

“Oh my god, you’ve never _seen it_ ,” Sam says, realizing. “Of course not. I forgot to put it on the list.”

“Put _what_ on the list?” Steve says, flinching as he adjusts the ice pack on his shin.

Sam grins. “ _The Little Mermaid_. The Disney version. Hang on, I know what we can do while you wait for your muscles to stop being inflamed.”

“This is just _muscle_ inflammation?” Steve says, incredulous.

“That’s what happens when you work out too much, babe,” Sam calls as he goes into the bedroom to find the old DVDs he doesn’t watch very often. He has to pull out another row of movies before he finds what he wants: a whole set of classic Disney movies, from _Sleeping Beauty_ (his favorite) all the way up to _The Princess and the Frog_ (which he thinks is really underrated). He pulls out _The Little Mermaid_ and wanders back into the front of the house.

“Okay, get ready to have a lot of feelings,” Sam says, opening the DVD case. He glances back at Steve. “You got everything you need?”

Steve shifts. He looks like he wants something but feels unsure if he should ask. “Well,” he says quietly. “Would you maybe make cookies later?”

“Oatmeal chocolate chip?”

“I love you so much,” Steve says. “ _So much_. I would trade in my fish tail for you.”

“Just you wait,” Sam murmurs, clicking play.

For the first ten minutes of the movie, Steve just wants to talk about how great the animation is, but then how strange the stylistic choices are and how weird Ariel’s family is, and he wants to know why Ariel can talk to Flounder and Sebastian but there are plenty of other fish who don’t talk at all. But then “Part of Your World” comes on, and Steve just goes quiet, held rapt by the music. He doesn’t look away from the screen, but when the song hits its climax, he reaches down for Sam’s hand and squeezes tight. Sam smiles.

Of course Steve thinks Ursula is great, and he shimmies a little bit to her song and then yells _ow_ when the shimmying hurts his shin. He doesn’t like the prince quite as much as Sam thought he would; but then, Sam reflects, Prince Eric is a bit dim, if beautiful, and Steve likes ’em smart. Sam makes up the cookie batter during “Under the Sea,” whisking in time to the beat, and puts it in the fridge to chill. He warms up the oven during the climactic wedding scene, while Steve is shouting “Don’t marry her!” and “Come on, Eric, get a clue,” at the screen. He puts the cookies in as Ursula is raising the storm; by the time the credits roll, he has a plate of freshly-baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies for both of them and two glasses of milk. Steve flexes his foot gently as he eats. He seems to be feeling better.

“What did you think?” Sam says. “Pretty great, right?”

“I don’t understand why she didn’t just kiss him,” Steve says. “The guy was obviously into her. It’s a weird problem. Also, I’m not sure he was worth the hassle.”

“It’s _romantic_ ,” Sam chuckles, breaking open a cookie to let the steam out. “You don’t like romance?”

“I just think women oughta be able to kiss whoever they want,” Steve grumbles.

“Hmm.” Sam dunks the cookie in his milk. “And what about men? Should they be able to kiss whoever they want?”

Steve looks up at Sam, that coy under-the-eyelashes smile, and even though it’s far from the first time, Sam’s heart does a little happy flip-flop in his chest.

“Why?” Steve says, a blush rising in his cheeks.

Sam leans in closer. “Is there someone you wanna kiss?”

“Mmm.” Steve nods. His lips are very pink. “I always wanna kiss you,” he whispers, like he’s just a tad shy to say it. “You’re my prince.”

“Sure am,” Sam agrees, moving in for the clinch.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to thingswithwings and toft for beta-ing this! Title is (sneakily) from the lyrics to "Kiss the Girl": "Don't stop now / don't try to hide it how / you wanna / kiss the girl."
> 
> Pearwaldorf, I hope you like it <3333


End file.
